Created In Our Image
by Isabella Raventhorn
Summary: In a disease-ridden world, humans are being robbed of their freedom and killed for the sake of containing the epidemic. This is a short story, first-hand account of a girl who lives in such a world.


I am flying.

I am flying, arms outstretched, smiling and enjoying the way sunbeams are bouncing off elegant skyscrapers, painted metallic white and standing tall and proud, and I almost forget that I am currently the objective of a hot pursuit.

The police are catching up to me now, chasing after me in their hover cars and yelling out threats to me. The gleaming red sirens are on, screaming and spinning and filling the streets with terrible sounds. The people down bellow pay no attention. They are all marching in the way military officers marched, all synchronized in their steps. They march down the streets, past the neatly trimmed grass and green plants and past the looming buildings. Faces blank, eyes closed, tears are being shed. Freedom is torn from their bodies, their souls, by the very object humanity created.

A metallic white collar snaps on another poor soul's neck. The black bars snap shut at the meeting point of the two sides of the collar. Red, green, then blue flickers on, signaling to the officer that the devise is secure and that this little boy is grounded for good. Grounded, and he cannot fly away anymore, unlike me. I got mine off.

The epidemic is killing people by the millions, supposedly; the television is riddled with pictures of the disease-stricken citizens, although I had never seen one in real life. The police told me my mother died from the disease. I don't know anymore.

The government was issued a presidential order--to exterminate those who were believed to hold the disease. That holds almost everyone on that position; only a selected few actually got the chance to escape. Important politicians, the president and his family, Congress members, and the Blanks. The Blanks were people born with a special immunity chemical that insured their survival throughout this epidemic. Doctors were some of the saved, too. They were brought to labs to perform various tests on the Blanks, trying to find the cause of their immunity so that a vaccine could be created.

I veer to the left sharply and then I am falling. Falling, drowning, sky diving, heading straight toward the crowd so that I can blend with the people. Not having the metal collar is a disadvantage, but the crowd is so thick that it might take a few minutes for the police to locate me--enough time to run away.

My face is two feet away from connecting with the hard concrete, and I gracefully levitate before my feet touch the ground.

Nobody says anything, no one is watching except for the boy who had just been tagged, and he was watching me with hopeful eyes. He was silently praying that I would help, and I wouldn't. Running from the cops for years does this to you; you become an immoral person, free from the guilt that pierces your heart every time you hear about a person being murdered or a report on child obesity.

I get into one of the many single-file lines. There was a deathly pale man ahead of me. There was a white lab coat on him, with a single name tag saying 'Mark Eaton.' Under the name, it said in big letters, 'EUREKA.'

Eureka was the name of the company who made the collars. It's also my name.

The police car hovers overhead, circling to and fro and driving forward, the red light still on and the noise still screaming, warning other officers that I was still on the loose. I am idly walking after the man, my guard still up. A nearby officer makes eye contact with me, and I realize that I am screwed. As the guard says something on her walkie talkie, I sprint away from the single line formation. A strong officer takes hold of my arm before I try to fly away, sets me on the ground, and clicks a collar on my neck.

"Don't try to run away," he mutters to me.

I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but my efforts area in vain. He leads me to a small single-filled line, where there are only three other people left. The officer who spotted me was at the entrance to the vehicle, checking off notes on her clipboard as she leaned on the side of the truck. She glances at me quickly and goes on to write as I am pushed inside. I fall on my knees and my face meets the floor as the door clicks shut. It's semi-dark inside; a single fluorescent long light bulb glows, illuminating the faces of the other prisoners. They are blank, staring at the floor with elbows propped against their knees.

I gather my senses and throw myself at the closed door, pounding my fists and screaming threats.

"Let me out! Goddamn it!" my voice is exceptionally loud because of the closed space. There was no answer.

"Don't bother, kid. They won't hear you nor will they care what you have to say," a male voice mutters.

I look over my shoulder, and there is a soldier within the truck. He leaned casually against the opposite wall, tired from carrying his heavy gear.

There was nothing else to say. Nothing I could tell him right now would convince him nor the driver to let us out. Game over.

I walk over to a free seat and slump down on it carelessly. My hands are brought up to cover my face, to cover the shame and humiliation I felt from being caught. No tears came, though. I never cry; sometimes I wonder if these feels of dread and anticipation for freedom are all just an act I put up. Maybe I am dead inside and I don't care whether I die or not.

The door swings open and the female officer steps in, closes the door, and sits down opposite from me. She is dark skinned with piercing green eyes. Black hair is tied back in a ponytail which falls out from the back opening of her uniform hat. I look up and stare at her with deep, hopeless eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.. "Don't you know how many people you are murdering for the sake and safety of thieving and lying aristocrats?"

She looks at me, this devil hidden in sheep skin, and chuckles slightly. "Relax, kiddo. We're from the NOR. You're safe from harm."

"The…what?" I ask.

"National Organization of the Resistance." The others are now looking at the woman. There were only two women and three men, along with one small boy holding on to one of the young women.

"Resistance? Are you telling me there's a terrorist organization out there helping people escape?"

"Terrorist? The government's the terrorist here, idiot," the soldier muttered.

I pass a small glare at the man. The woman officer paid no attention. "Yes, you're right. Ever since the extermination order has been passed out, this organization was created. It's our job to rescue you and send you all to safety camps around the world."

"Y-you mean we're safe now?" the older girl asked.

"Pretty much. You guys are being sent to Europe. Germany or France, whichever decides to take you first." The woman got up now, producing a small ring of keys. "My name is Lira. That's Dufaux," she motioned to the man.

We all watched as Lira passed by from one person to the other, locking a fitting key over the side of the collar and twisting it, and the collars fell off one by one.

I pressed my back against the wall. This was all just a dream.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

We were caught. The police spotted the car, and somehow knew that we were in a NOR vehicle. The driver tried desperately to outrun the chasing police, and in that process we rammed into the windows of a large mall.

"Shit…Hughes, turn back through the front entrance and speed off of highway route 7!" Lira shouted to the driver.

"Got'cha." The truck veered sharply to the right, and everyone slammed into the side. Sirens were blasting loudly from behind us, and the police made vain attempts at convincing us to stop. The police car's megaphone screamed threats.

The truck levitated onto the highway, gliding past cars going the opposite direction and almost slamming into one. A fighter jet flew above us, and the truck swayed dangerously as we were pelted by bullets. Hughes drove off the highway route as instructed, heading east were nature and agriculture dominated most of the region. Almost instantly, there was a wide, green prairie beneath us, and we had nowhere to run. The police were right behind us.

"We're never gonna get away from them…" one of the old men sighed. "Everything is over, and it's dumb of you brats to even try and prevent the inevitable."

Lira only huffed in annoyance as she peered out from the small side window. The fighter jet was right behind us. Suddenly, the truck shook and I felt the sensation that I was floating, although I didn't want to fly just yet.

We were falling.

"They hit the combustion chamber!" Hughes shouted.

The truck spiraled down down down, and hit the ground with an explosive thud. My head slammed against a seat and I blacked out.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

"So this is it…" I muttered.

Lira fidgeted beside me, fluffing her frizzed hair down. "Yes, I have your passport here; all you have to do is present it to the guards waiting at the shore." She handed me the little book along with a navigator. "So you don't get lost."

Thanking her, I put the two objects into my pockets. I stared at the ocean in front of us, this giant pit of churning waters. We had made it to the city's shore, and currently standing on the railings. Behind us stood a gleaming white city, covered in the shadows of midnight and shining its many brilliant colors.

"They're all dead, aren't they, Lira?" I asked her, remembering the crash.

"I'm not sure…but you have to understand my decision for helping you and only you. There was little time to gather everyone, and since you were the only Blank, I figured you would be the obvious choice to save," she said.

"You can't weigh people's lives," I whispered, but she didn't hear me. I thanked her, and this time she heard me.

"No problem, kiddo. Now get going; Europe awaits. It's a great place so don't worry."

I smiled and stared at the sea again, and stepped into the outer railings. Closing my eyes, I admire the cool breeze. Lira wasn't behind me anymore.

And as I outstretch my arms, I let the weight of my body fall forward, and I am falling parallel to the wall of the concrete shore. Before colliding with the rough waters, I levitate and fly forward, cutting through the foamy waters with arms still outstretched an a smile plastered on my face. I am flying to Europe, where I will be free for good.

I am flying.


End file.
